Hecate paused, as if savouring the impending irony, and then slowly unveiled her plan:
"I can cast a spell, an extremely complex transfiguration. To transform you, Asopus, into the likeness of your daughter, Aegina."
Asopus was stunned, as if the meaning of her words hadn't quite reached him.
Hecate continued, her voice holding its magical timbre:
"Then, I will find an opportunity to exchange the real Aegina for you, the one who has become Aegina. I will spirit her away to safety. And then..."
She paused meaningfully, a glint of wicked mischief flashing in her eyes, and spoke deliberately, word by word:
"You, wearing your daughter's form, will need to endure the 'blessings' and 'attentions' of the King of Gods, Zeus."
Let the father himself play the role of his daughter, bearing the humiliation and violation meant for the perpetrator.
Asopus's pupils suddenly contracted, his entire frame trembling violently.
Hecate watched him coldly and added, "This is the only way to save your daughter without direct confrontation. Of course, you could also choose to remain here, weeping, waiting for the day the King of Gods tires of his toy and perhaps casts your broken daughter back like so much refuse."
"Choose, old man. Bear the ultimate humiliation a father can endure to save his child, or shed useless tears here like a coward?"
......
The wind in the river valley, carrying the faint, fishy scent of the water and the lingering despair, blew past the two goddesses.
Hecate watched Asopus's back, now bearing an almost martyred resolve, as he staggered onto the path of 'salvation' that was predestined for humiliation. She felt no particular pity, rather a cold satisfaction at a plan set in motion, and... yet another form of vengeance for Zeus's despicable acts. Sending the father to his bed was surely a defilement beyond even the most vicious of curses.
She deftly used her magic to quietly spirit the real Aegina away from Zeus's hidden golden chamber. The girl had been frightened and tearful, and Hecate, showing rare patience, didn't snap but instead used a simple sleeping spell to ease her into a peaceful slumber. She then transported her to a quiet island far from Olympus, to be cared for by several kindly Naiads.
Her task complete, she clapped her hands together as if brushing off dust, ready to return.
But as she turned, she saw Thalia standing motionless, head bowed.
This was not the Thalia Hecate knew. Usually, she was like a cheerful lark that never stopped: noisy, lively, with a slightly thoughtless optimism and an even more boundless capacity for mischief when mingling with her siblings. But now, her bouncing curls seemed to droop listlessly, her shoulders were slightly slumped, and her expression was nearly vacant. Hecate had never seen such a look on her face before.
Hecate frowned.
She was ill-equipped for such delicate emotional matters; her domain was the secrets of magic, the rules of direction, and keeping accounts. But looking at Thalia's state, and remembering that although this one was troublesome, she had just called her 'sister', that small tug belonging to the title 'sister' in her heart made her somewhat stiffly reach out a hand.
She awkwardly drew Thalia into an embrace, her arms smelling faintly of rust and herbs, her movements clearly unpractised. The rhythm of her pats on Thalia's back was also a bit erratic as she tried to soothe her. This was probably the closest contact they'd shared since becoming 'sisters'.
"What's wrong?" Hecate's voice was still a little dry.
Thalia leaned against Hecate's shoulder, her voice muffled and full of self-doubt. "Sister Hecate... am I a failure?"
Hecate didn't interrupt, just kept patting her back in that awkward rhythm.
"I made him laugh... but I couldn't change the sorrow of reality." Thalia's voice was thick, with a faint tremor of being choked up.
"That old river god, I made him laugh, but what came after? The pain was worse. What use is my laughter, like sugar sprinkled on a wound, except to attract more ants and make the wound fester?"
She lifted her head, her eyes bright but filled with confusion:
"I'm also the Muse of creativity, of drama, of festivals, of poetry... I've created so many things that made people happy. But when real misfortune strikes, I can do nothing. I'm useless. I could only watch him weep, or... make him laugh."
Hecate opened her mouth, her mind full of spells and incantations, but now she couldn't find a single word that could be called 'comfort'. Reality was so harsh, and joy so often paled in the face of profound suffering. What could she say? Say 'you did everything you could'? That sounded hollow and hypocritical.
Seeing Hecate's silence, Thalia's confusion deepened. She seemed to be talking to herself, or pouring out the philosophical dilemma within her to this seemingly cold sister:
"Reality is very bitter and bleak, and life is largely in vain. Laughter is just a fleeting moment, but suffering is so abundant. Comedy is too short, but sorrow is remembered for a lifetime."
Her voice was light and airy, yet carried a heavy weight.
"If death is considered sorrow, then living is too painful. If you can enjoy joy in dreams, then being awake is too sad. I create pleasure, but I cannot change reality. I spread laughter, but I cannot mask suffering. I can't do anything..."
Hecate listened to this pessimistic argument and finally couldn't help but interrupt, trying to steer her back to her priestly role: "Don't be too pessimistic, Thalia. Don't forget, you are the goddess of joy."
But this reminder seemed so pale in that moment.
Thalia suddenly looked directly at Hecate, her eyes, always full of smiles, now brimming with deep confusion, and she asked a question that cut straight to the heart:
"Sister Hecate, I want to ask you, why do we laugh in life?"
"If fate is so powerful, then everything we are born with—joy and sorrow, honour and shame, rise and fall—is predetermined by an invisible, twisting thread... Then why should life laugh? What can that laughter possibly mean, other than to highlight our ignorance, or our futile struggle amidst a preordained tragedy?"